Chapter 3 Am I having a dream

Gracia

I stared down at the glass in my hand, watching the amber liquid catch the bar lights.

"So, yeah," I muttered, the words slurring slightly. "That's the story of my life."

I gave a bitter little laugh and tipped the glass toward my lips, feeling the burn all the way down.

"I found out my fiancé was gay, just days before the wedding. And to make it worse," I added, shaking my head in disbelief. "He actually hurt me. Can you believe that?"

I turned to the bartender, who had paused while wiping a glass, his expression attentive.

"I was in shock. I could only stand there, feeling utterly helpless. I should have done something, said something, instead of just freezing like that."

The bartender set the glass down slowly. "Woah. When I said I wanted to hear your story, I didn't think it'd be that heavy." He let out a low sigh. "I can't even imagine how you must be feeling right now."

I set my glass onto the bar with a soft clink, blinking hard. My head spun. The alcohol burned in my throat, and everything felt overwhelming.

I didn't even remember how I got here. One second, I was walking out of that house, and the next, I was parking outside some random hotel. Instead of booking a room, I went straight to the bar and ordered the strongest drink they had.

Now, most of it was gone. I frowned, picking at the peeling label on the bottle.

God, this is so cliché, I thought miserably. Here I was, heartbroken, drinking alone, and telling my story to a stranger.

I used to think scenes like this in books and movies were overdramatic. I used to wonder why characters couldn't cope differently. But now, I understood.

When you felt so low, so completely shattered, sometimes numbness seemed like the only temporary relief.

I pushed the glass toward the bartender.

"Imagine this," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "Finding out your fiancé has been unfaithful is terrible enough.But finding out he was never attracted to women to begin with? That he loved someone else and was just using you to hide the fact that he's gay. And then, in the midst of it all, he hurts you while defending the person he chose over you?"

The bartender set his towel down, his expression sober.

"Yeah... that's a lot for anyone to handle." He quickly added, "But you'll get through this. Seriously, you will."

He took the bottle and poured another measure into my glass. "This one's on the house. Don't worry, you'll find someone who deserves you. Someone much better than that."

Someone better? I stared at the liquid swirling in the glass. Who was better? I'm twenty-three. I felt like the men I'd known were often immature or didn't understand what I needed. Maybe I should just go for older men at this point in my life. At least they would know how to satisfy a woman and treat her right.

I picked up the glass and drank it slowly. I set it down and dropped my head into my hands, squeezing my eyes shut. I hated this. I hated this feeling so much.

My phone started ringing, vibrating against the bar counter. I blinked down at it, my vision slightly blurred.

I stared at the caller ID for a long moment. It was my mother. I didn't want to answer. I already knew how this would go. I could explain everything, I could plead, and it wouldn't matter. It never had with my family. But some small, fragile part of me still hoped. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe she would listen.

I answered the call. "Mom..."

I didn't even finish the word before her voice came through the speaker, sharp and angry.

"What is this I'm hearing from Charles's family?! You called off the engagement? Are you out of your mind? The wedding is in a few days!"

I bit my lip, an old, nervous habit.

"Mom, I... Charles, he-"

"Don't you dare mumble!" she cut in. I flinched, holding the phone slightly away from my ear.

"I want you to go back there right now," she commanded. "You fix this! Apologize if you have to! Beg him to take you back!"

For a moment, I was frozen. Staring at my empty glass.

"Mom..." I said, my voice trembling. "How can I go back? Charles... he was with someone else. I saw them."

There was a pause on her end. For a second, I thought she might understand, but then she let out a dismissive sound.

"And so what?" she scoffed. "Is he the only one? Men stray. It happens. That's what matters."

I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the world spin. "I-"

"Your father was no saint," she said, matter-of-factly. "You don't hear me making a scene. He provides. That's the important thing. So think logically, Gracia."

"You're our adopted daughter. We can't support you forever. Charles can. He'll give you a stable life. Don't be foolish. Fix this before your father finds out. You know how he gets."

Right before she hung up, I heard her mutter, "So ungrateful. She should be thankful someone like him wanted to marry her."

The call ended. I sat there, phone in hand, feeling completely hollow.

The bartender leaned over slightly, his voice gentle. "Are you alright?"

Was I alright? Why didn't anyone seem to truly care about me? Why did it always hurt?

I wasn't asking for much. I didn't need extravagance. I just wanted someone to genuinely care for me. To choose me, and love me honestly. Why was that so impossible? Why did it feel like an impossible request?

My fingers tightened before I forced them to relax. I pushed myself up on unsteady legs.

The bartender made a move as if to help, but I shook my head slightly.

I dug into my bag, pulled out a bill, and left it on the counter. "Keep the change," I murmured.

Without another word, I turned and walked toward the lobby. The bright lights were harsh. My heels clicked against the floor as I approached the front desk.

"Hi, is there a room available? Something modest, please."

The receptionist smiled politely. "Good evening. Just a moment, I'll check for you."

As I waited, someone stepped up beside me.

"Excuse me," the man said to the receptionist, adjusting his suit cuff. "I need a spare key for Mr. Reed, please. I'm with his party."

I barely glanced at him as his phone rang, and he answered.

"Yes, I'm at the desk now," he said into the phone. "Getting the spare key for Mr. Reed. Making sure everything's arranged for tomorrow."

I tuned him out. The receptionist placed two room keys onto the counter. One had the number six. The other had nine.

The man grabbed the one marked nine without looking, still talking on his phone as he walked away.

I took the key labeled six, thanked the receptionist quietly, and made my way toward the elevator.

I leaned against the elevator wall, focusing on staying upright. When the doors opened, I walked down the corridor to the right door.

Room 6.

I fumbled with the key, then finally pushed the door open. The room was spacious and far more luxurious than I had expected for the price.

I frowned. I hadn't booked a premium room. Maybe there was a mistake? I shrugged. I was too exhausted to deal with it now. It could wait until morning.

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me, and instantly heard the sound of running water.

The shower's on? Perhaps it was left on by mistake.

Too tired to think much of it, I kicked off my shoes, slipped out of my dress, and left it on a chair.

I stood there for a moment in the lace-trimmed slip I had worn tonight. A wave of sadness hit me, but I pushed it away. I just needed to sleep.

I stumbled over to the large bed and sank onto it. The sheets were soft. I closed my eyes, falling asleep almost instantly, but soon felt something damp on my face.

I frowned, still half-asleep. "What...?"

I forced my eyes open and found myself looking into a pair of surprised, hazel eyes.

A man was standing by the bed, water droplets glistening on his skin. His dark hair was damp. He looked both confused and annoyed. He had a towel wrapped around his waist.

I blinked, trying to process the sight of a stranger in the room.

"Am I... dreaming?" I mumbled, my mind still foggy.